Chapter 12

Twelve

V ictor stood in front of the tall windows behind his desk, staring out blindly at the moonlit gardens. The light from the full moon cast silvery beams across the neatly manicured hedges, but he found no solace in the view tonight.

His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled and troubled. His fingers tightened around the leather-bound book in his hand, the weight of it unfamiliar in his grasp despite how often he had touched its cover. The Voyages of the Intrepid Explorers.

His brother, Christian, had loved this cursed book—loved it so much, in fact, that it fueled the reckless, restless spirit that had taken him far from home, to the very colonies where he'd met his end. And now, it seemed, Christina was drawn to the same adventures, the same danger.

Victor sighed, the heaviness in his chest familiar and unwelcomed. He had married her to be a calm presence for his daughters, to bring order into their lives. What he needed was a composed, sensible woman. Not one who shared his brother's wild spirit and unpredictable temperament. But as much as he tried to push the thought of her aside, her image, her voice, her laughter crept into his mind, unbidden, at every turn.

A knock sounded at his study door, drawing him from his thoughts. His body tensed instinctively, a flicker of hope flashing through him. Perhaps it was Christina. She hadn't sought him out since the dinner, and though he had been deliberately avoiding her, there was a part of him—however foolish—that wished she would come to him.

"Enter," he called, his voice betraying nothing of his anticipation.

The door opened, and his chest deflated slightly at the sight of Miss Peversly stepping into the room. She curtsied deeply, her posture nearly perfect, and greeted him with a low, measured voice.

"Your Grace."

Victor's response was a curt nod. He made no effort to hide his irritation as she straightened herself and looked at him, her lashes lowered in that deliberate, practiced way she used when attempting to appear demure. She said nothing for several seconds, simply standing there, her silence testing his already thinning patience.

"What is it, Miss Peversly?" he said, his voice clipped.

Finally, she spoke. "I came to offer my deepest apologies for my previous conduct, Your Grace. I do not know what came over me. I assure you I am most remorseful."

Victor's gaze did not soften. "I see."

The governess, emboldened by his response, continued. "I have also apologized to Her Grace. Profusely, in fact. If there is anything more I can do to make amends, I should be most willing."

Victor's jaw tightened. He had little patience for this conversation. "Miss Peversly, I rarely rescind my decisions. You are still unfit to be my daughters' governess."

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier. Miss Peversly's dark eyes lowered further, and her lips tightened into a thin line. Yet she curtsied again, nodding as if she had expected nothing less.

"Of course, Your Grace," she murmured. "I only wished to express my regret."

Victor crossed his arms, his stance rigid as he turned away from her, gazing once more at the gardens. He could sense her lingering presence in the room, her unspoken plea hanging in the air. "You are to remain until a suitable replacement is found, as we discussed. But understand, Miss Peversly, you will not be staying here indefinitely."

Miss Peversly's voice, soft and measured, floated back to him. "It has been an honor serving at Kilton Castle, Your Grace."

Victor said nothing. He expected her to leave then, to take her leave as any sensible woman would after such a dismissal. But instead, her voice lingered in the room.

"I thought you might wish to know," she began, her tone slightly more deliberate now, "that Her Grace is currently in the library."

Victor frowned, turning halfway toward her. "In the library?" he repeated, his voice edged with disbelief.

"Yes, Your Grace," she continued, her lashes fluttering briefly. "I seem to recall you forbade anyone from entering."

His grip on the windowsill tightened as he straightened fully. "Indeed."

Miss Peversly held his gaze for a moment longer, her expression barely masking the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. There was a light in her eyes—something flirtatious, perhaps even calculating. Victor could see it, but he ignored it, his mind already moving past her and toward the library where his wife was undoubtedly up to no good.

"Miss Peversly," he said, his tone cool and dismissive, "if that is all, you may excuse yourself."

She curtsied once more, this time with an exaggerated flourish. "Of course, Your Grace."

As she swept from the room, Victor turned back toward the window, his thoughts racing. He had forbidden the library for a reason, and Christina clearly chose to ignore it.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. What is that hellion doing in there? There was only one way to find out.

Victor marched to the library and opened the door as quietly as possible, slipping inside without a sound. His senses were immediately greeted by a soft humming, light and free. His brows furrowed, and he ventured further into the room, moving around the darkened shelves. It didn't take long for his eyes to find her.

She stood near one of the towering shelves, her back to him, red curls spilling down her shoulders and over the white satin gown she had worn to dinner. The dress gleamed softly in the candlelight, as though it were made of moonbeams. Victor stopped, his breath catching. He tugged absently at his cravat, as if loosening it might help him regain control of his racing thoughts.

What is she doing here? he wondered, though he already suspected the answer.

Still humming to herself, Christina reached up to place a book on the shelf. It was then that Victor felt something brush against his leg.

"Good—" he cursed under his breath and glanced down, his eyes narrowing. Carrot.

The cursed cat was sitting there, tail twitching, staring up at him with what could only be described as smug satisfaction. Victor's gaze snapped back up to Christina, who was now facing him, wide-eyed, a book clutched behind her back as though she'd been caught in the midst of some great crime.

"I—I know you forbade anyone from entering the library," she began, her voice breathless with surprise, "but I promise you, I am not defying you."

Victor felt a slow, amused smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest, his posture casual but his gaze sharp.

"Not defying me, you say?" he asked, his tone touched with amusement. "Then what, pray tell, are you doing here?"

Christina shifted slightly, taking a cautious step back, her eyes still wide with that mixture of surprise and defiance that had become all too familiar to him.

"I noticed," she began carefully, "that your book collection is… incomplete."

Victor raised a brow. "Ah. So this isn't the first time you've slipped into the library after I gave my orders."

Christina hesitated for a brief moment, then shook her head. "I've been here almost every night," she confessed, though there was a glint of challenge in her eyes.

Victor tilted his head, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "And what business have you with my book collection, Duchess?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line for a moment before she answered. "I want to help you complete it. I've noticed how important they are to you."

He stepped closer, narrowing the gap between them, his amusement growing. "And who told you these books are important to me?"

Christina's gaze didn't waver. "No one told me. I saw it—the way you handled them after the children had played with them."

Victor's heart thudded once in his chest, something stirring within him. He stepped forward again, closing the distance. She retreated until her back pressed against the wall, leaving her no escape. Her chin lifted in defiance, and her eyes gleamed with determination.

"And it was only the children who played with them, was it?" he asked, his tone playfully sarcastic.

She met his gaze boldly. "You didn't see me playing with the books, did you?"

Victor's smirk deepened, his eyes alight with something he wasn't ready to admit. "Perhaps not, but…" He reached for her hands, gently prying them apart and taking the book from her. Their proximity made it impossible to ignore the way her skin felt beneath his touch, how her breath seemed to catch as his fingers brushed hers.

They were so close. He could see the flush creeping across her cheeks, the way her lips parted ever so slightly, and without thinking, his hand moved of its own accord. He tucked a stray lock of her fiery hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering near the curve of her jaw. Christina's eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment—a dangerous moment—he leaned in.

What are you doing? a voice screamed in his mind.

Victor froze, the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips burning into his thoughts. He straightened abruptly, stepping back and turning his attention to the book. He cleared his throat, trying to shake the inexplicable pull he felt toward her. The title caught his eye, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face.

"The Risen Empires," he murmured, recognizing the title instantly. "This is the last volume I needed to complete the set."

Christina smiled, her earlier flush still lingering. "I found it in Mr. Stone's bookshop in Willsbury."

Victor was impressed, though he took care not to show it. "Indeed." He handed her the book and turned, putting distance between them as he walked toward one of the shelves. "I must say, I am surprised."

Her brow furrowed slightly. "Surprised? Are you displeased?"

He paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. "No," he said after a moment. "Not displeased."

Her smile widened, and his gaze dropped to her lips, his thoughts beginning to spiral out of control once more. What is wrong with me?

He cleared his throat again, harder this time, and gestured toward the shelf. "Place the book where it belongs and get some rest."

He turned toward the door, intent on escaping whatever madness was clouding his thoughts.

"I'm not tired," she called after him.

He didn't turn around. "Do as you wish, Duchess, but remember—the library is still forbidden to the household."

She grumbled something under her breath, and for the first time that night, Victor smiled—an unbidden, unexpected smile that spread across his face before he caught himself. He shook his head as he left the room, feeling the weight of the door closing behind him.

What in heaven's name is she doing to me?